


Dance With Me

by offensiveagentpie



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Dancing, Fluff, M/M, bones being his typical grumpy self, mckirk - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-20
Updated: 2013-10-20
Packaged: 2017-12-29 22:08:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,619
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1010682
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/offensiveagentpie/pseuds/offensiveagentpie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Looks like tonight’s my lucky night,” Jim all but purrs as he leans into McCoy’s personal space.  “Why doctor, I never thought I’d find a catch like you in a place like this.  Come dance with me.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dance With Me

**Author's Note:**

> If you had told me a week ago that my first contribution to the world of Star Trek fanfiction would be this McKirk fic, I'd have called you nuts and that's that.
> 
> However, once this idea wormed it's way into my head, it just wouldn't leave.
> 
> I must also give shout outs and lots of love for my two extraordinary betas: [kirkandbones](kirkandbones.tumblr.com) and [puck-sexton](puck-sexton.tumblr.com).  
> Thanks for fleshing the story out and helping me with my abuse of commas and pronouns.

The first time it happens they’re out at a club right after the final exams of their first semester. Or, to put it more accurately, Jim went out to a club and dragged a complaining McCoy along with him, with the assurance that he’d pay for however much alcohol the good doctor could drink in a night. McCoy is well on his way to making Jim regret those words, when he spins on his stool to survey the rest of the club. 

Despite the pleasant buzz he’s got going, he can’t keep the scowl off his face. He watches the mass of people, all younger than him, all better looking than he’s ever been, and all with bright sunshine-y futures in front of them, jumping around on the dance floor and having a blast. Never was there a time in his life that he could let go like that. Hell, he’s never even wanted to. It’s senseless for anyone so self-aware and so relentlessly miserable to go out dancing.

Pursing his lips he takes another drink. Thoughts like those can lead him down a dangerous road that can conjure up thoughts and memories he’d rather leave buried. He really doesn’t need a headache like that after a week of the roughest tests he’s ever taken.

He’s about to swing around and ask for another drink, when hands waving frantically in the crowd catch his eye. Jim is dancing his way over to him with the dopiest smile on his face and McCoy can’t help the weird wiggle that his lips do as he tries not to grin in return at the spikey haired idiot.

“Looks like tonight’s my lucky night,” Jim all but purrs as he leans into McCoy’s personal space. “Why doctor, I never thought I’d find a catch like you in a place like this. Come dance with me.”

Bones shoots him his best skeptical look and falls all too easily into the standard banter he has ready for Jim at any given time. “Does your mother know you’re out, kid?”

Jim’s face falters for all of a second before he leans in closer, thighs pressing against McCoy’s knees as he speaks directly against his ear. “Nope, I am a big boy after all. A very big boy, if I might say so myself.”

McCoy chokes on the drink he’s taking and decides to blame the warmth settling into his stomach on the alcohol that actually made it into his mouth. “Dammit Jim!” he exclaims, wiping whiskey off his chin and then groaning a bit as he notices that his front is soaked with it.

Jim, the little shit, is obviously holding back chuckles as he stays pressed up against him. “Sorry, Bones. Now, are you going to dance with me or what?”

McCoy suddenly finds it very hard to look anywhere higher than the floor. “Are you kidding? I smell like a distillery. I’m going home. There are enough pretty faces here who’d line up to dance with you; go ask _them_. ” He manages to slip off the stool to the side, mostly avoiding Jim except for the brief touch of hands as he passes over the little credit chip containing his tab for the evening. He doesn’t acknowledge the surge of warmth from the short touch. “You promised to pay right? I’ll see ya later.”

He makes his way to the door, cursing himself as several kinds of fool and if Jim yells after him, he doesn’t hear it. 

 

-oOo-

 

Two years have passed before it happens again. They’ve landed on a planet where the natives are at least seven feet tall and very fuzzy. They’re friendly as all get out and are more than happy to sign the agreement for joining the Federation, thus sharing their abundant supply of dilithium. The negotiations have gone so smoothly that the crew has received approval for two days’ worth of shore leave on the planet for a job well done.

It’s the last day of their leave and McCoy is sitting with his legs crossed on a large pillow, sharing a drink that tastes quite a bit like mint with Scotty and a local engineer called M’targo. All around them the crew is mingling with the native inhabitants around a large ceremonial fire pit. From somewhere nearby, there’s lively music being played on odd sounding instruments, and lots of people are dancing. He even catches Uhura spinning around with Chekov, giggling and waving at Spock who merely raises an eyebrow and then delves back into conversation with the planet’s leading astrophysicist.

He likes it here. There’s a warmth in the air that reminds him of humid late summer nights in Georgia and the drink is making him pleasantly drowsy. The fact that no one is hostile and all of the local food and drink turned out to be palatable to the various species of the crew members is just one big bonus. Whenever he’s given the rare guarantee that no one’s going to enter anaphylactic shock, it’s always a cause to let out a relieved sigh and try to relax.

Scotty’s sputtering laugh at something M’targo said pulls him out of his reverie. “What’s so funny?” he asks. 

Just as Scotty starts to reply, his pillow gives a violent jolt as Jim’s ass hits it. “What’s funny is you two sitting here like lonely old men instead of dancing.”

The sudden closeness causes McCoy to lean back, regain some personal space and clarity. Jim’s face is flushed and his eyes are bright. God knows what poor ensign just escaped his snare. 

Scotty, however, pipes up first. “We’re busy sharin’ jokes Cap’in. M’targo here has some bloody good ones ‘bout dilithium miners.”

“I thank you,” their new friend grins.

McCoy can’t help the disgusted look that he gives the two of them. “Maybe I don’t want to know what’s so funny then.” He lifts his glass to drink but Jim yanks it from his hand and places it on the ground. 

“You’re evading--come dance with me,” Jim’s voice is veering dangerously close to sounding whiny. 

“You’re annoying--no.”

Scotty, damn him, starts laughing again. “Go on then! At least yeh’ve been asked.”

Uhura chooses that moment to show up, grinning down at the engineer. “If that’s the only excuse you’ve had for sitting out all night, Mr. Scott, then I’m afraid I’m here to fix that.”

Scotty flashes them a false expression of shock and stands up grinning. “Lead the way, lassie, I’m yours to command.”

“He very lucky man,” M’targo chuckles in his stilted grasp of their language. The sound causes the deep emerald green fuzz around his neck to ruffle.

“And our esteemed Doctor would be too, if he’d get off his lazy ass and _dance with me_ ,” Jim urges, elbowing McCoy in the ribs and making M’targo laugh all the harder.

“You should dance, Doctor. Make very handsome couple the two of you,” M’targo comments.

“See!” Jim exclaims, nudging McCoy once again.

But McCoy is nearly deaf to all but the thrumming of the blood in his ears. Why is it always him? He mentally scoffs at himself. Like he’ll ever figure out the answer to that question; he hasn’t after all these years and he probably never will. 

“Go find an ensign to pester, I’m sure lots of them would dance with you,” he grumbles. 

“I’ve already made my way through the new recruits,” Jim answers, wrapping his hand around McCoy’s elbow. 

McCoy yanks his arm away before Jim has the chance to start another begging request. He refuses to look at Jim, refuses to notice the way the firelight is flickering along his skin and glowing in his hair. He refuses to recognize the way there’s a lingering heat where Jim’s hand has just touched, or realize that there’s always some sort of lingering feeling he gets whenever Jim’s around. He won’t give in to the tiny, foolish part of him that almost wants to go and dance with him, that’s whispering that Jim’s the one who asked, that Jim must want to…

He quickly rises from the pillow, causing Jim to fall over onto his side with an “oomph”. “I’m turning in,” McCoy mumbles as he heads off for the tent he’s been provided. 

“Aw, c’mon Bones!” Jim’s voice follows him, his tone all but whining. He can just imagine the kicked puppy expression the kid’s wearing…can see it in his mind’s eye, the way his lips would pout. Even imagining it causes his resolve to quake a bit, if he stayed, god forbid, he might just give in.

He doesn’t look back.

 

-oOo-

 

It’s their last holiday on board ship. Enough of the crew celebrates some sort of holiday around what would be Earth’s winter solstice that each year they’ve thrown a party around the time. This year is no different, except that since it’s the last one, they’ve decided to go all out. There’s music and tons of food, and the party lasts long enough that each shift has a chance to attend.

The five years have, McCoy can reluctantly admit to himself, flown by alarmingly fast. And, despite his initial hesitation, there are definitely going to be some aspects of being way out in no man’s land that he’ll miss. He’s certainly going to miss the oddball camaraderie that he’s struck up with his fellow medical crew and most of the senior officers…though he’d never admit it, at least not to their faces. It’s going to be rough, a small part of him keeps thinking, going back to living on his own back on Earth.

McCoy’s been at the party for nearly an hour, chatting and eating with his med staff and actually managing to have a pretty good time when Jim starts walking his way. He’s wearing an anticipatory look on his face that can only mean one thing and McCoy has to make a conscious effort not to groan out loud. “I’m going for another drink,” he announces to the table. Making his way over to the bar, he hopes that Jim will lose sight of him in the crowd.

He should have known he wouldn’t be that lucky.

“Hey Bones,” Jim says, sidling up to him.

McCoy grunts as an answer, but Jim, damn him, isn’t fazed. He’s not surprised really; it takes more than that to deter James T. Kirk…the brat.

“Seeing as it’s our last holiday on board, I really think you owe me a dance. Hell, I’ve even managed to get Spock to do a quick little spin with me.”

McCoy actually snorts at that. “You’ve never been a good liar, kid.”

“It was worth a try,” Jim shrugs, a small smile tugging at his lips and lighting his eyes. 

“Go ask someone else. I’m sure there are tons of others who’d want a dance with the Captain.”

“You always say that,” Jim almost sounds petulant, face falling. He’s getting the sort of sad confused look he always wears when things that should be easy don’t go his way.

“It’s always true.”

Jim presses a little closer, his eyes are half lidded and his voice is low. “Well, maybe I don’t want to dance with anybody else.”

“Well that’s too bad.” McCoy looks away, pulse speeding up against his will and damn if he doesn’t feel his face starting to heat up.

“For Christ’s sake, Bones, it’s just a dance,” Jim huffs, exasperated, as though it’s something that’s so damn simple.

Something fragile in McCoy cracks at that. Why? He’s not sure. It could be the image he gets of finally putting his arms around this damn kid who’s been the best and worst thing in his life going on ten years, it could be that a part of him doesn’t want it…that doesn’t think he deserves having what sort of imagined contentment Jim could bring into his life if they became something more, either way, when he answers, “Jim, just leave me the hell alone, alright? I don’t want to dance with you, I don’t want you near me, alright?” he can’t keep the anger from his voice, can’t help the way he shoves Jim back and storms off. He knows he’s over reacting, knows that Jim is probably wearing his hurt and confused face, but he doesn’t care. Heading off towards the door feels both freeing and damning.

 

-oOo-

 

They’ve been back on earth for five months. It’s an odd sort of in-between stage that has them waiting for another mission, or for a command that will have them staying for much longer. McCoy has taken up practice at a Starfleet-run hospital near campus to keep busy during the interim.

He’s also reluctantly wound up with Jim as a roommate. 

What started off as: “I swear I’ll only stay here for a week or two until I get an apartment of my own,” has turned into, “I’m paying half the rent, so just shut up and let me stay, Bones.”

Despite all of McCoy’s many and loud protests, Jim just gripes right back and stubbornly stays. And, despite the thing that he does not think about, (he’s even gotten good at denying that it’s a thing in the first place), life on Earth is actually going pretty well. Especially since, miracle of miracles, Jim has chosen not to address the little falling out they had back at the party. They fall into a good routine and, dammit, it’s getting downright domestic up until a certain goddamn Tuesday decides to happen.

It’s a run of the mill, Tuesday morning and everything decides to turn upside down. McCoy walks down the hallway toward the kitchen, the sound of pots, pans, and faint 20th century classic rock (Jim’s always been fond of it), signal that his roommate is making breakfast. He pauses in the doorway. 

Jim’s at the counter in boxers and one of McCoy’s t-shirts, stirring pancake batter and swaying his hips slowly to the music, and dammit if that’s not sultry, then Leonard doesn’t know what is. 

It’s absolutely ridiculous.

That’s all it takes.

Some wall inside him crumbles down and he can’t even control himself as he walks across the floor, feeling like he’s outside of his own body, and places his hands around Jim’s waist, swaying with him to the music.

The world doesn’t end, the sky doesn’t fall. Jim barely even reacts; he just drops the whisk against the side of the bowl and places his hands lightly over McCoy’s wrists. 

“Finally,” he murmurs, turning his head to mouth along McCoy’s jaw.

He can’t reply, couldn’t give response even if he wanted to. He’s too busy running his hands along his old medical school t-shirt that fits snug against Jim’s stomach, (the kid never did listen to his dietary orders) and enjoying the warmth that Jim’s lips are causing against his cheek. This beautiful idiot. It’s hard to believe that this carefree person dancing in his underwear in his kitchen, is the same person who commands the flag ship of an entire federation, who has saved worlds, who has travelled with him across distances he’d never dreamed about, who has stayed at his side through some of the best and worst days of his life and who still hasn’t left him.

It’s overwhelming.

Jim’s lips ghost towards his ear, whispering that dumb nickname that he gave him as a question.

He still can’t respond. So he drops his face to where Jim’s neck becomes shoulder, takes a deep breath of warmth, and _Jim_ , and just dances…and now that he’s started, he finds that he doesn’t want to stop for a long, long time.


End file.
